Falling off the Rock
by Tonko
Summary: Sanji overeats on the ship after he and Zeff are rescued.


Zeff woke up to the night-darkened room, still dizzy, still with that shitty IV needle in his arm. Every part of his body ached like sandpaper on a raw wound, and they'd only let him have little intermittent cups of some kind of tasteless drink so far, getting his body used to having fuel again.

It was wonderful.

The infirmary bed on this ship didn't stink of salt and stone, and he wasn't under beating sun or lashing rain.

And the kid was alive. Shitty little brat had made it too.

Last time Zeff had woken up, the kid had been wheezing away, asleep, in the berth across from him in the narrow room, looking like some kind of stick-puppet with blond hair. The hollow face was familiar to him now and it turned what was left of his stomach to see it like that.

The bed was empty, now, though, the intravenous line dangling, a knot tied to stop it dripping. The doctor Zeff had seen the last time he'd been fed was gone, the light at the doctor's desk shining on an empty chair, novel left with a bookmark in place.

Zeff pushed himself into a sitting position, glancing with disdain at his own shaking, stick-like arms.

He swung his legs over the side, eyeing the raggedly-healed stump below his right knee. Before he had to decide the best way to get himself moving to hunt for the kid, he heard a rustling and rummaging sound from the desk and then the light slap of small bare feet on the deck. The brat stumbled around the side of the desk, the too-large gown drowning his emaciated shape with blue-striped cloth, mouth speckled with crumbs and two opened snack bread packages in his hands, both with bites out of them. His face was strained and confused.

"Idiot," Zeff growled, worry spiking sharply. This couldn't happen, not now, not after everything.

More wrappers littered the floor, Zeff realized, below where he'd seen the doctor and his assistant pull snacks from a drawer a couple of times, when they'd thought their patients were asleep. That hadn't been the case for him all the time. Or the brat either, obviously.

Sanji didn't seem to hear him, dropping the bread and clutching at his stomach, eyes wide. He lurched and his small body slammed sideways against the desk. He collapsed to his back, writhing weakly.

"Ghh-h-hurts," he grunted, voice reedy with pain.

"Stupid!" Zeff barked. "HEY!" he bellowed, hoping his voice would reach all the way to the head, or wherever the shitty doctor had gone to. He heaved up off the bed. The needle tore free of his hand, and he shoved off the wall to land on his good knee by the boy. "You can't eat like that after starving! Idiot! HEY!" he shouted towards the door again, and the audible diminishment of his voice was infuriating.

"Was h-h-hungry," Sanji snivelled, and his body jerked, trying to reject the sudden shock of food. Zeff grabbed his gown and rolled him on his side.

Pounding feet sounded outside, and the doctor skidded in with a low curse, still buckling his trousers. After one glance he swooped down and shouldered Zeff aside, scooping the kid up with one arm and yanking a basin from the a shelf. He carried the kid towards the low sink at the back of the room and Zeff shoved himself back against the wall, leaning exhaustedly against it and trying not to listen to the kid bringing up all the stuff he'd just tried to cram into himself.

"...Can't believe you could even walk over there." the doctor's amazed tone drifted over. Zeff heard water running. The retching seemed to be over. "Your body doesn't remember what do with food anymore, though, son. You have to wait."

"H-h-hate your sh-shitty d-d-d-drink," Sanji's voice was thin, weepy and furious. Then, "NO!" an indignant, exhausted shriek of protest. "You d-don't carry me!"

Zeff watched Sanji totter back, the doctor right behind him, hands under the boy's wasted arms, apparently deciding the effort of walking would do less harm than the exertion of a tantrum. The man's face was full of disbelief as Sanji made it to his bed. He was lifted into it, and sprawled there, chest heaving.

The doctor came to Zeff next, and Zeff barely had the energy to even feel indignation as he was lifted and put back on his own bed.

He stayed awake as his and the brat's needles were replaced, though. "Big waste, boy," Zeff rasped across the space between them, and heard the agonized hitch of breath at that. "Keep yer ass 'n bed now."

Sanji obeyed, but over the next day it became obvious the bread the kid had packed down his gullet had upset the doctor's slow reconditioning of his stomach and his starved body. Sanji's breathing got erratic and laboured, and then he fell asleep and for two endless days, he did not wake up. They put a tube in him then, but when the kid finally opened his eyes again, Zeff had graduated from the nutrient drink to an equally bland puree of slightly more substance, and Sanji was still only allowed liquids.

"Lemme do it," Zeff muttered to the doctor's assistant on the evening of the third day, after the bout when Sanji had gasped himself into another fit of nausea after grabbing the cup and sucking down his entire hated drink in as few swallows as possible. He hadn't thrown up that time, and Zeff had watched the little body lie tense and tight, jerking every few seconds, but not giving in until the feeling passed.

The assistant let Zeff have the chair next to the brat's bed. He couldn't even walk down the hall with a crutch yet, but he could hold a cup and get the kid propped up on a couple pillows. The bony shoulders were sharp under his hands, and the kid seemed to weigh nothing at all. "Little sips, shitty eggplant," Zeff told him. Sanji reached up to curl his fingers over Zeff's hand on the cup, but he didn't try anything else. "Stupid brat," Zeff muttered. He reached out to tousle the kid's hair, which was still brittle and faded from their time on the rock.

Sanji glowered at him over the cup rim, too-big eyes already brighter than they'd seemed this morning. He swallowed his last sip, but didn't let go of Zeff's hand. His sharp little fingers dug in and he pulled himself an inch or two up from the pillows.

"I'll get stronger... shitty geezer," he hissed. "I'm gonna help you." Defiant, like it was some kind of threat.

"Hmph." Zeff grunted. All Blue, the kid had said. He'd need to learn plenty before he went off to look for that properly. Like how not to fight with his hands, for one thing. "Guess I'm stuck with you."


End file.
